Fic: A Box of Delights
A Box of Delights
by me, doctorpancakes
Fandom: Nathan Barley
Pairing: Dan/Jones
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 668
Author’s Notes: For J'adore, who asked for Dan, Jones, and Peanut at Christmas.
“Christmas delivery, apparently,” announced Jones, bouncing into the kitchen with a messily-wrapped cardboard box. “You expecting anything, Dan?”
“No,” Dan said slowly, quirking a suspicious eyebrow. He would not have been surprised if it contained a giant dildo strung with fairy lights and a note from Nathan Barley that read something as insipid as PEACE AND FUCKING, PREACH! or whatever.
“It’s for Felicity,” said Jones. Dan felt a tidal wave of relief wash over him as Jones placed the package on the kitchen table.
“Hear that, Peanut?” said Dan. “Papa says you’ve got a Christmas gift in the post. I wonder where the hell it’s from?”
Felicity paid them no notice, contentedly banging two wooden blocks together. Jones flopped into his kitchen chair, and began to work at the tangled packing tape, desperately picking at a stuck-down corner with his well-bitten thumbnail.
“This is well fucking impossible,” he laughed.
Dan liked the way Jones would often subconsciously stick his tongue out, just a little, when performing a task that required concentration. He smiled inwardly. Felicity had moved on to investigating whether or not her wooden blocks were edible. Having removed most of the mess of tape - much of which had, in the process, adhered itself to him - Jones opened the box to reveal, first and foremost, a letter.
“Let me get my specs, babe,” said Jones , setting the letter on the table.
Dan turned the letter over in his hands as Jones padded over to his turntables, where his spectacles perched precariously on the end of a stuffed bunny’s nose. Not many people knew Jones wore spectacles to read: it was not as though he kept secrets or neglected to mention things about himself on purpose; rather, so normal were these things to him that they seemed, to him, to go without saying.
(Like the whole Cambridge thing. Cambridge, with distinction, in fact.)
“It’s from Carys,” said Dan as he handed over the letter, reaching for a cigarette pack that turned out to be empty.
“We got a letter for you from your mum,” Jones addressed Felicity, who reached out a chubby hand to grab it from him. “Why don’t I read it for you though, yeah Peanut?”
Dan nodded in agreement.
“’Dear Felicity,’” Jones began. “’hope you and your dads are well. I’m in LA, which is well futile. It’s, like, totally fucking wizard out here.’”
“Like totally fucking wizard?” asked Dan, incredulously.
“That’s what it says,” shrugged Jones. “Anyway, she goes on to say ‘I don’t know what kids your age are into these days, but I thought it’d be well nice to send you something for Christmas. Tell your dads I said hello or something, yeah? Love, Mum.’ And that’s it.”
Dan and Jones peered into the box. They found Felicity’s gift beneath a bundle of bubble wrap and foam peanuts.
Dan stared incredulously at the object, which bore a large rhinestone-encrusted skull, several clasps and buckles that did not appear to be safe for children under the age of twelve, and was approximately the colour of a bucket of sick.
“It’s… a lady’s handbag,” said Jones. “A really ugly lady’s handbag.”
“What the hell’s Peanut going to do with a fucking handbag?” eyerolled Dan.
“Dunno,” said Jones. “That zip’s definitely not safe for infants. I’m putting on my thinking music.”
As the sounds of serious thought bleeped and blooped their way through the flat, Dan and Jones sat, staring confounded at the perplexing object that their daughter had been given by her well-intentioned birth mother.
“Yeah!” shouted Jones after some time, leaping out of his chair and raising his fist in triumph. “I’ve got the solution, babe!”
Claire was confused as to why and how Dan and Jones had given her a £5000 handbag for Christmas, but knew better than to ask.
by me, doctorpancakes
Fandom: Nathan Barley
Pairing: Dan/Jones
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 668
Author’s Notes: For J'adore, who asked for Dan, Jones, and Peanut at Christmas.
“Christmas delivery, apparently,” announced Jones, bouncing into the kitchen with a messily-wrapped cardboard box. “You expecting anything, Dan?”
“No,” Dan said slowly, quirking a suspicious eyebrow. He would not have been surprised if it contained a giant dildo strung with fairy lights and a note from Nathan Barley that read something as insipid as PEACE AND FUCKING, PREACH! or whatever.
“It’s for Felicity,” said Jones. Dan felt a tidal wave of relief wash over him as Jones placed the package on the kitchen table.
“Hear that, Peanut?” said Dan. “Papa says you’ve got a Christmas gift in the post. I wonder where the hell it’s from?”
Felicity paid them no notice, contentedly banging two wooden blocks together. Jones flopped into his kitchen chair, and began to work at the tangled packing tape, desperately picking at a stuck-down corner with his well-bitten thumbnail.
“This is well fucking impossible,” he laughed.
Dan liked the way Jones would often subconsciously stick his tongue out, just a little, when performing a task that required concentration. He smiled inwardly. Felicity had moved on to investigating whether or not her wooden blocks were edible. Having removed most of the mess of tape - much of which had, in the process, adhered itself to him - Jones opened the box to reveal, first and foremost, a letter.
“Let me get my specs, babe,” said Jones , setting the letter on the table.
Dan turned the letter over in his hands as Jones padded over to his turntables, where his spectacles perched precariously on the end of a stuffed bunny’s nose. Not many people knew Jones wore spectacles to read: it was not as though he kept secrets or neglected to mention things about himself on purpose; rather, so normal were these things to him that they seemed, to him, to go without saying.
(Like the whole Cambridge thing. Cambridge, with distinction, in fact.)
“It’s from Carys,” said Dan as he handed over the letter, reaching for a cigarette pack that turned out to be empty.
“We got a letter for you from your mum,” Jones addressed Felicity, who reached out a chubby hand to grab it from him. “Why don’t I read it for you though, yeah Peanut?”
Dan nodded in agreement.
“’Dear Felicity,’” Jones began. “’hope you and your dads are well. I’m in LA, which is well futile. It’s, like, totally fucking wizard out here.’”
“Like totally fucking wizard?” asked Dan, incredulously.
“That’s what it says,” shrugged Jones. “Anyway, she goes on to say ‘I don’t know what kids your age are into these days, but I thought it’d be well nice to send you something for Christmas. Tell your dads I said hello or something, yeah? Love, Mum.’ And that’s it.”
Dan and Jones peered into the box. They found Felicity’s gift beneath a bundle of bubble wrap and foam peanuts.
Dan stared incredulously at the object, which bore a large rhinestone-encrusted skull, several clasps and buckles that did not appear to be safe for children under the age of twelve, and was approximately the colour of a bucket of sick.
“It’s… a lady’s handbag,” said Jones. “A really ugly lady’s handbag.”
“What the hell’s Peanut going to do with a fucking handbag?” eyerolled Dan.
“Dunno,” said Jones. “That zip’s definitely not safe for infants. I’m putting on my thinking music.”
As the sounds of serious thought bleeped and blooped their way through the flat, Dan and Jones sat, staring confounded at the perplexing object that their daughter had been given by her well-intentioned birth mother.
“Yeah!” shouted Jones after some time, leaping out of his chair and raising his fist in triumph. “I’ve got the solution, babe!”
Claire was confused as to why and how Dan and Jones had given her a £5000 handbag for Christmas, but knew better than to ask.